Page 82 of The Deadly Candies

“Caint it?” Janey asked. “I done married. There states right here that you can marry or play marry in. Long as the white man think he on top,” Janey said a snide snort.

“I told you Carmelo isn’t like that,” Katht groaned.

Janey waved it off. “We ain’t gotta live in this world on white-folk terms. We can make the sugar sweeter to live it our way." She walked over and pressed her hand to Kathy’s face. She tucked a loose curl behind Kathy’s ear. "Now help me fold these sheets so we can get home and fix supper ‘fore Big Mama skins us alive."

“But can we do it. If you was us, would you do it?” Kathy asked.

Janey cast her a sly smile. “If I were you I’d bake Don Cosimo Ricci one of your famous cupcakes.”

Kathy eyes stretched in surprise.

“Now, you ready?” Janey asked.

Kathy nodded. Aunt Janey was so understanding. She valued her advice. Her mama had said Janey walked a crooked line. To Kathy, Janey walked just fine.

Harlem, New York – 1949

When Matteo pushed open the diner door, he wasn’t sure Mama Stewart would be there to greet him. His stomach growled—he hadn’t eaten, wound too tight with worry. The air clung to yesterday’s fried onions and stewed meat, a greasy warmth that draped over him like a second coat.

It was early. Sunlight sliced through the blinds, painting gold stripes across the empty counter where chrome napkin holders stood guard over place settings untouched for hours.

Matteo’s shadow stretched long across the checkerboard floor as he stepped further inside, his boots scuffing tiles still damp from the night’s mopping. A radio murmured a hymn in the back, the preacher’s voice crackling through static like distant thunder.

"Be a moment, baby. We just gettin' started."

Mama Stewart’s voice rolled out from the kitchen before she did, rich with the affection she ladled out to regulars. She emerged carrying a tray of coffee mugs, arms steady under the weight, her flowered dress whispering against sturdy calves. She hadn’t even looked up yet—just tending to her morning rituals like always, like this was any other day.

Matteo cleared his throat.

Her head snapped up so fast the cameo pendant at her throat swung. For one suspended moment, the world held its breath. Then?—

"Matteo Ricci."Her smile bloomed slow, like dawn breaking over the East River."Look what the cat dragged in ‘fore decent folk had their coffee."She clattered the tray down, already reaching for the pot."Sit, child. You look like you’ve been wrestlin’ the devil and losin’."

He didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not until?—

Mama Stewart froze mid-pour, the coffee stream halting as she took in his face. The pot hit the counter with a thud."Oh, sweet Jesus. What’s happened now?"

The vinyl booth sighed under his weight as he sank into it. Through the kitchen pass-through, Debbie’s memory assaulted him. He was transported to the past, where Debbie moved between stainless steel counters—her laughter floating out like wind chimes, her hands busy with some task the cook had given her.

Mama Stewart followed his gaze.Did she see the ghost of Debbie from the past too?Her lips pressed into a knife’s edge."She ain’t stepped foot in here since... that last day."The words came out tar-thick with sadness."Miss that child. Like her cousin, she’s happy ‘bout near anything."

"We’re... together again,"Matteo said."She’s carryin’, Mama."

The mug slipped from Mama Stewart’s hands. Coffee splashed across the Formica, dark as old blood. Her mouth worked soundlessly before the words tore loose:"Sweet merciful Christ. First Kathy, now Debbie?"Her fist slammed the table hard enough to make the silverware jump."How could you let this happen?"

"Didn’t know. That’s why she left. Found her at Magdalia’s."

Mama Stewart’s eyes bulged.

"Got there in time,"he rushed.

Her chest heaved."That girl’s life is over now. No church’ll marry her. No decent man’ll look her way twice. You wrapped her up in silk and sapphires in that room of yours—’course she gave herself to you. And for what? A boy playin’ at bein’ a father?"

The truth hit Matteo square in the chest. He buried his face in his hands."Maybe I don’t deserve her,"he whispered."But my child does. My child deserves the whole damn world."

Mama Stewart slid into the booth, her hand covering his, which was rough and smooth all at once."Alright, child,"she murmured, resigned."Tell me this grand plan of yours. And Lord help me, it better be good."

When he finished, Mama Stewart leaned back slow. Her eyes went wet."José? Her friend? Marry?"She breathed it out all at once."You’d let another man claim your firstborn?"

---